


imagine me and you (i do)

by uneventfulhouses



Series: imagine me and you [1]
Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: It's a lot of fluff, M/M, i mean like a ridiculous amount im so sorry, ryan works at a pet shop, shane's not a dog person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:07:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21584260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uneventfulhouses/pseuds/uneventfulhouses
Summary: Ryan works at a pet shop down the street from Shane's apartment building, and Shane finds himself constantly repeating that's he's not a dog-person.Studies show, he's a liar.
Relationships: Ryan Bergara/Shane Madej
Series: imagine me and you [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1645399
Comments: 70
Kudos: 345





	imagine me and you (i do)

**Author's Note:**

> sup friends! i have been writing and rewriting this fic for the better part of a month. it's just 15k of a lot of fluff and jokes and two dudes making eyes as they pet a dog. i really hope you guys like it! 
> 
> the title is from the song "happy together" by the turtles, covered by about 93457938 different artists. this was beta-ed by the ever so freakin' funny [joanna](https://anxiousghouligan.tumblr.com/). this is a work of fiction, and as always, all mistakes are my own. please, enjoy!

For all intents and purposes, Shane isn’t a dog-person. He likes them well enough, but he’s not one to stop in the middle of the street and strike up a conversation over petting a pup—in fact, he finds it a little silly that there’s such a community of people. Maybe he’s missing something, his invitation lost in the mail to join this prestigious club. And yet, bored on this here insanely hot August afternoon, he finds himself meandering down the street, no busier than any other day. There’s a grand opening sign with a giant arrow pointing in the direction of an animal shop. Curiosity wins more than anything, and his long, lanky legs take him inside, but it’s only because he’s hot and starting to sweat through his shirt.

The store is milling with people and children, and there are puppy pens, with all different kinds of dogs. The place is enormous, with a row of registers off to his left and aisles upon aisles of pet accoutrements. The extent of pets for Shane really includes a bird and a cat, an orange little guy, but he’s back home in Chicago, chilling with his parents. Shane gets updates on occasion.

There are banners and ribbons and bows everywhere. The store is covered with that Brand-New feel that’ll surely fade as time passes.

There’s really no rhyme or reason as to where his feet take him, but he decides if he’s in a dog store, he may as well go look at them, and there were plenty of different breeds. If he had to go and choose, his favorite, much like many Americans, would be the Golden Retriever (with Labradors as a close second). They were good dogs, big dogs, and it seemed like they would be the loyal type. So, he unintentionally searches for them until he finds them, cute little buggers with floppy ears and big ol’ grins. And he’s not a dog-person, not really, but he does get down, crouching at the side of the pen to let a couple of the pups come lick the back of his hand. Some of them scatter to other onlookers, but there is one that stays. It’s dark gold, with big brown eyes, and the brightest little bark.

“She likes you,” a voice says behind him. Shane looks up—not something he does often considering his height—and finds a clerk standing near him, holding a giant bag of dog food. He puts it on the rollaway cart just off to his side, and Shane doesn’t miss the way his arms flex as he does, biceps bulging; the white t-shirt and blue vest combo works well for his tanned, golden skin. The clerk walks over and mirrors Shane’s crouched squat.

“Mm,” Shane says, mouth pressed into a line. “Not really a dog-person, though.”

The clerk’s face falls a little bit, but he squints his eyes, scrutinizing Shane. “Everyone’s a dog-person. _Especially_ people who say they aren’t.” He’s smiling now, teasing, Shane realizes. He’s handsome, Shane decides, not that it really is a decision he has to make when it’s painfully apparent that this guy is hot in a way he must be self-aware of, but quite possibly isn’t boisterous about. A gentle kind of handsome that’s substantiated by the soft glittering brown of his pretty, curious eyes. The clerk wears his hair messily, black bangs falling over his forehead. There’s the shadow of few-days-old scruff, owlish brown eyes, and—well, Shane thinks his teeth are sized abnormally, or maybe he has couple too many, but they’re very white and straight and—Shane’s never been someone for teeth, but he likes them on this fella. It’s kind of a weird thought to have—this cute guy’s teeth, but it could be worse. He could want them in a jar, and for the record, he does not.

“Yeah, I mean,” Shane replies, “I like them well enough, but I’m not really set up to have one. Apartment and such.” Which is true, but he hasn’t looked into the rules, really, because he’s never had a reason to. He might have glanced at the clause a few years ago when he first signed his lease, and he’s sure he’s heard barking in the night, but he can’t remember what it specifically says. Golden Retrievers can be giant dogs, and there’s got to be some ridiculous size policy he has to pretend to abide by.

“This _is_ LA,” the clerk says, like he understands. Shane has enough sense to read his nametag, which says, “Ryan”. Shane doesn’t call him by his name, but he notes the information away for later. When silence befalls them again, and Shane reaches in the pen to pet his new little friend who will no doubt be taken by someone shortly after he leaves, meaning he’ll never see her again. He feels a little bit sad, his dumb heart traitorous. What a fool.

“Her name is Bailey,” the clerk—Ryan—says, “just in case you maybe decide you are a dog-person. She’s playful, and pretty quiet, and she sleeps tons. Might be a good fit.”

There’s a moment where Shane just wants to throw caution to the wind, just because _Ryan_ says he should, because _Ryan_ thinks they’d be a _good fit._ And that’s unlike Shane entirely—while he’s quite laissez faire about life in general, this is still out of the realm of something he would do. That kind of commitment is difficult to sign up for on a whim.

“Oh, boy, you’re really selling it, huh?” Shane says, but he’s smiling, teasing right back.

“It’s sort of my job,” Ryan admits, with cheeks tinting the prettiest shade of pink. “But I like Bailey. She’s one of my favorites. And she likes you. That’s gotta count for _something_ ,” he defends.

“Score one for me, then,” Shane jokes. “Well, you keep an eye on her until someone else much more worthy than me comes and scoops her up.”

Like Bailey can clearly interpret what Shane is saying, she whimpers, tugging on Shane’s index finger with her little baby teeth. And fuck, Shane’s kinda gone for it, can maybe see why people are dog-people after all. Shane stands up to leave, and Ryan says, “Take care,” like he means it, which, Ryan probably says it a thousand times a day, and it’s well practiced to sound like that.

Except, when Shane leaves, he does take care—he takes care all the way back to his apartment, to his desk in the corner of his bedroom, where he files all the most important papers, and looks for his lease agreement.

:::

The apartment he rents is kinda small. Standing in his living room, he feels like everything is in reach; the tiny kitchen and dining area behind him, the hall that splits to bathroom and bedroom, a closet in the middle that fits the washer and dryer. But it’s been enough for him for the last few years, and he can _maybe_ see a little puppy traipsing around. None of his furniture is so special that it can’t have dog hair on it—Golden Retrievers are hideous shedders, but he owns a broom and a vacuum, and he can buy lint rollers. He’s comfortable financially with his job at the marketing firm that he doesn’t have to worry about being able to afford a vet bill or stockpiles of food and treats. Also, Shane and Bailey sounds like a bomb-ass duo. His little sidekick.

There’s a clear recognition that his life was much simpler this morning. He’s plagued now by dreamy thoughts of a Golden Retriever puppy he doesn’t own because a handsome man was maybe, possibly convincing him to adopt her.

Posting up on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, with his phone in one hand and his lease agreement in the other, he checks the hours of the store first. Because he could go back, and that handsome store clerk can show him around and tell him all about what he needs and get him all set up. Sunday hours say the shop closes at six, but it’s ten ‘til; he wouldn’t make it back in time, so he stores that away for later, flips through the pages and finds the section for pets.

_Resident must fill out an application._

That’s it. Easy enough, he supposes, except, he figures by the time all that’s said and done, Bailey will be gone, and that will be just his luck. Although, Ryan will probably find a different pup and convince Shane to buy it, and that’s only because he thinks Shane is a closet dog-person, but it’s mostly because Shane might actually just be a sucker for those blinking brown eyes and pretty white teeth. He puts a hand to his forehead; he figures he’s running a fever because this is one hell of an impulse decision.

Recollecting the day’s events, Shane honestly asks himself if he’s going to adopt a dog because he thinks the guy at the store was cute, and it might give them a chance to talk a lot since Shane doesn’t know what he’s doing, despite having all the tools for research at his fingertips—and a hell of a lot of common sense. He could figure it out, but it wouldn’t be horrible, visiting the pet store just to see Ryan again.

:::

It’s almost ten by the time he gets home from work the next day and he’s exhausted. Twelve-hour days aren’t his favorite, and while making himself something to eat, he posits that it wouldn’t be too bad have the little pit-pat of feet come up to him at the end of a long day.

Also, he could go find, like, a human mate, but that was, arguably, a lot more work than caring for a dog.

:::

Leaving work, a few days later—thank fuck it’s Friday—Shane walks his usual route home. He lives a fifteen-minute walk away from where he works which is incredibly convenient as he doesn’t have a car. Weird? Yes, he’s aware, but carbon footprints and all. He’s doing the world a _favor_.

As he happens upon the pet shop, he decides to walk in. And because he knows where he’s going now, he just heads towards the golden retrieves section, just to peek and see if Bailey’s still available.

She’s not in the pen which makes his heart sink a little, but he double checks all the name tags—there’s only three—and none of them are his little buddy. Before he gets to wrapped up in Sad, he figures he’ll head to the counter and ask if maybe someone’s taken her outside to potty.

“Change of heart?”

Looking behind himself, he finds Ryan standing close by, hands in his pockets, which really brings out the biceps in his arms, the sleeves of his white tee just this side of stretched. He’s clean shaven today, and his eyes seem just a smidge bit browner than he remembers. They glitter like crystals, and his smile is like sunshine.

And Shane is an idiot with all his dumb, dumb metaphors, but hey. He’s crushing hard, he can’t really help himself.

“Ha,” Shane huffs. “ _No_ , I just came to check in, see how she’s doing, you know?” Standing up, Shane stuffs his hands in his pockets, listening to Ryan’s laugh. There’s a bloom of warmth in Shane’s chest, and he clears his throat like that will get rid of it, but in an unsurprising turn of events, it doesn’t.

“Of course. You know, a regular day for a not-dog-person,” Ryan says, smile bright and eyes playful. “It’s uh—it’s bath day for her. So, she’s in the back room.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You know, she whined for a bit after you left. It was actually really cute.” Ryan shrugs his shoulders like it’s not a big deal, except it is kind of a big deal. Shane just straightens his posture, shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Ryan says. “Dogs know, you know, when they find people they like. You might not be a dog-person, but Bailey clearly is a—um…” Ryan smiles, a little something akin to _shy_ , and Shane just wants to fall on the floor for a moment, just lie back and contemplate his life and why that makes his heart stutter in his chest, an abnormal rhythm that makes his breath catch in his throat. He’s seen attractive people before—this is LA, of _course_ he has. They’re coming out of the woodwork, but for some reason, Ryan is just—so much all at once, this gentle demeanor, handsome face, expressive eyes and lips so pink. Shane just wants to watch him talk, hear him laugh, just _learn_ things about him. It happens every time he finds himself attracted to someone. He gets curious, wants to know things, ask questions and tell jokes and stories and just envelop himself in the feeling of learning someone new. 

“Sorry,” Ryan continues. “I didn’t catch your name. I’m Ryan, by the way.” He holds out his hand, a proper adult handshake, and Shane takes it, shaking as he introduces himself.

“Shane.”

“Right.” Their hands fall apart mutually (he’s not a creep that’s gonna go and hold hands with Ryan for too long and make things _weird_ ). “Well, what I was trying to say, is maybe Bailey is a Shane-dog.”

Shane laughs, heartily, and it’s not even that funny, but Ryan seems so convinced, like that’s an actual thing.

He’s sure it isn’t.

“That’s not a real thing,” Shane voices, and Ryan’s face scrunches up.

“It _is_ a real thing. How would you even know? You don’t even think you’re a dog-person.”

“Dogs just latch onto anything that will feed them,” Shane explains, because that’s the truth. “Loyalty waivers by the offering of a treat.”

“Not true! Dogs get attached to _people_. Have you never seen those videos of dogs when their soldier owners come back after being away for so long? Those dogs _know_.”

Shane has to admit, Ryan looks so endearingly passionate, like he just _can’t_ believe Shane doesn’t understand. And maybe Shane won’t ever really understand, but it’s charming, watching Ryan get so worked up about it.

“If you say so,” Shane relents, shrugging his shoulders.

“I _do_ say so,” Ryan says, crossing his arms over his chest and—Shane’s brain glosses over, just watching the action, the way Ryan’s arms flex. He tries not to look for too long, but—you know, he has to be doing it on _purpose_.

“Either way,” Shane says, clearing his throat, adjusting his glasses just to give his hands something to do. “Still not a dog-person.”

There’s Ryan’s laugh again, incredulous, and that dumb warmth in his chest again, insistent, and of course, _of course_ , he would develop a silly crush on someone who—admittedly, and quite possibly—is way out of his league.

“Did you still wanna see Bailey, then? Since you came all this way to visit her?” Ryan inquires, voice smug, like he’s caught Shane in a trap.

And Shane, because he feels a little trapped, can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, you got me. I _do_ want to see her.”

Ryan’s smug little smile doesn’t fade, and it does absolutely nothing to contain the butterflies in his stomach.

“You think someone will adopt her soon? I can’t imagine she’s not wanted by people. She deserves a good home,” he says off handedly, waving his hand.

“ _You_ could give her one,” Ryan suggests, quirking up an eyebrow. His grin makes Shane want to rip out his own heart and just hand it to Ryan and stomp out of the store. He’s stupid handsome—like ridiculously. And, truth be told, the blue vest is doing it for Shane. He just kind of wants to grab the lapels and pull Ryan in close and—

“Sure, but like, I don’t have a bathtub, so I couldn’t even give her a bath. And I live on like the fourth story of my building, so she wouldn’t get a lot of time outside.”

“I have a bathtub,” Ryan declares, a little too loudly, and Shane quirks his eyebrow.

“Congratulations,” Shane teases. “And in LA? How’d you manage that?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, but in good nature, like this is what they do, banter and stand in the middle of pet stores, talking about who does and does not have bathtubs.

“ _No_ ,” Ryan tries to correct, but he seems to be flustered. “I mean, yes, _I_ have a bathtub, but I meant here. There’s a bathtub here.”

All this talk about bathtubs, of course, just makes Shane think about Ryan in one, with bubbles up to the top. And then without bubbles, and really, it’s just Ryan all wet, in a tub, with his ginormous biceps and that stupid, stupid very handsome grin.

“So, you’re not just bragging about your rad apartment?”

Ryan rolls his eyes, and pushes playfully at Shane’s shoulder, and Shane’s stomach flutters. He’s in his _thirties_. That should be illegal by now.

“Anyway, it’s not like I can just pop in anytime she needs a bath, Ryan. You know, there are groomers.”

Ryan chooses to ignore him, saying instead, “Come on, I’ll take you to the back.”

Shane follows Ryan back behind the counter. There’s another clerk there, a particularly tall fellow whose nametag reads Keith. And Keith eyes him in a particular way, that makes Shane think that maybe Keith knows him. Not personally, though. More like in a way where a certain handsome store clerk has perhaps, maybe, quite _possibly_ , been talking about him whilst he wasn’t around. High hopes, anyway.

 _The Back_ isn’t anything special, just a wall of large kennels, some that have dogs, and some that don’t. There’s a table in the middle of the room with chairs, and further towards the end of the room, there is in fact a giant metal tub, shelves of shampoos and other dog-stuff Shane doesn’t care to identify. There’s a collection of lockers which Shane assumes is for employee use, and a window he can see through into what looks like an office space.

“Why are these guys not with gen pop? Have these pups committed particularly heinous crimes?”

Ryan wheezes when he laughs, and it’s both weird and cute, and Shane finds himself wrought with desire, thinking of things to make him do it over and over again.

“No, oh my god,” Ryan says. “These guys are special care. Some of them are missing limbs or have been abused, so they’re kept separate, so they don’t get hurt by territorialism.”

Shane hums, feeling a little bad for his joke, but he watches as Ryan busies himself at one of the crates, and bounding out comes Bailey, right over to Shane. And if that doesn’t just tug on his goddamn heartstrings, then he may as well be soulless, but as it goes, Shane just crouches down and pets her, picks her up in his arms. She licks over his cheeks, like she’s missed him and Shane’s struggling, cause he kinda just wants to walk out of there and just— _be_ a dog-person.

“You’re so cute,” Ryan says, watching them with his big brown eyes, tenderness on his face. And like he didn’t realize what he just said, Ryan walks towards them, reaching out his hand to scratch behind Bailey’s golden floppy ears.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Shane says easily, and Ryan looks up, and they’re looking at each other for a long, extended moment, even while Bailey wiggles around in Shane’s arms, like she’s trying to crawl onto his shoulder. Shane’s heart rate increases, feeling a little like Ryan can see right through him. His lips are parted, and he smiles so gently Shane feels like he might melt into the earth beneath his feet. _Fuck_.

“I— _oh_. Thanks,” Ryan murmurs, and he blushes, and Shane wants the ground to swallow him whole because he’s just—he’s so enamored with this dog loving stranger. If he adopts a dog, can he take the store clerk with him? Is that a thing? There should be a sale.

There’s crackling silence between the two of them, and it’s interrupted when the other clerk, Keith, comes walking in.

“Oh, what a happy little family you guys make,” he says, his giant mouth grinning, hands clasped against his cheek.

“Shut up, Keith,” Ryan snaps, but there’s no heat behind it. He catches Shane’s eyes again, and says, “Ignore him.”

“Well, that would be rude, Ryan.” Shane turns to Keith and says, “I’m Shane. I’m not a dog-person.”

“You know,” Keith muses. “Everyone says that, but it’s just not true.” He’s so matter of fact, Shane laughs.

“No, really,” Shane says, like he has to defend himself. “It’s just not for me.”

“And yet—you come in to visit a dog you refuse to adopt,” Ryan counters, and Keith laughs, a little too knowingly.

“Think he came to visit a lot more than Bailey,” he mutters.

“Keith!”

“Ryan!” he mocks back, and Shane likes it. He likes both of them, and he likes _Ryan_ , and he will only admit to himself that he might have fallen in love with Bailey, snuggled against his chest.

“I did,” Shane interjects, voice smooth. “Come visit more than Bailey,” he clarifies.

And it wasn’t like the blush had left Ryan’s checks, but it blossoms even redder, so nice under his tanned, olive skin.

“I mean, we’re practically B-F-Fs with all this bonding over dogs.” Shane’s not quite sure why he phrases it that way, considering he doesn’t want to be _friends_ with Ryan at all. But sometimes he doesn’t calculate his thoughts correctly and he says ridiculous things like _BFFs_ to a guy he’s very, very interested in.

“Oh—I—that’s nice,” Ryan says, and Shane huffs a gentle laugh, a little awkward, because he’s stuck himself in a corner he doesn’t know how to get out of.

“Okay, well, before you guys convince me against my will that adopting a dog will better my life—”

“It will!” Ryan insists, smiling wide.

“—I gotta run.” Shane, even though he doesn’t want to, shuffles Bailey in Ryan’s arms. He hates that she looks at him with her pretty brown eyes like _take me home, you giant goof_.

“You sure?” Ryan says, and the two of them just look at Shane, brown eyes and brown eyes. He looks at Keith in the back.

“Yeah, you sure?” he asks, and Shane thinks Keith just _isn’t_ helping.

“Another time,” Shane says. “See you guys around.”

“Hey,” Ryan says, just as he’s turning to go. Shane turns his attention back to Ryan, watches the way he wrings his fingers, like he’s _nervous_. Shane’s heart does an odd pitter-patter. “Since we’re B-F-Fs now, can I, uh, have your number?”

Huffing a laugh, Shane nods, grinning to himself. He rattles off his number.

“I’ll send you pictures of Bailey,” Ryan reasons, blush sitting so pretty on the apples of his cheeks. “Until she’s adopted, of course.”

“Of course.” He feels his phone buzz in his pocket with what must be a text from Ryan. He pulls his cell from his pocket as sees the foreign number at the very top of his text threads. When he opens the message, it’s an emoji of a dog. Shane’s smile just widens, and honestly, if he smiles any harder, his face is gonna crack.

He sends back the unamused face. He can hear Ryan’s phone chime and he laughs when he opens the message.

“And with that, I’m out,” Shane says, throwing up a peace sign. “See you all real soon.” 

“We’ll be here,” Ryan says, and his smile is so soft, and his cheeks are pink, and Bailey barks, like she’s in agreement.

And Shane just has to go before he grabs the both of them and drags them into his too small apartment, which he knows would be complemented by the two of them. Just—just no.

Shane leaves, and when he walks in front of the counter, it’s a little like a breath of fresh air, and Ryan calls out, “Bye Shane!” behind him and Shane looks back, and their eyes meet, and boy, Shane is just so fucked.

:::

It’s a rainy Tuesday in September. At his desk, he’s been distracted, doodling on sticky notes instead of getting any actual work done. He’s got deadlines, but all he can see are brown eyes; Ryan’s kind of plagued his mind, and when he glances at the clock to see it’s only three—still a few hours before he can leave—he can feel the giddiness of knowing that he’s going to walk right into the shop and see Ryan. He’s worried Bailey will be gone, but that’s the chance he’s taking, he supposes.

“You have a dog right, Ned?” Shane asks, peeking through the glass separating their desks.

“Yes,” he says without looking up from his screen. “ _And_ a wife.”

Shane rolls his eyes, looking down at his doodles. “Yes, yes. We know. This dog though—”

“Are you thinking about getting one?” Ned says, looking at Shane this time, through the glass of their cubicles. Shane shrugs.

Ned is one of Shane’s favorite people. When he’d moved to LA and taken this job, it was all so fast—he hadn’t really known anyone else, and Ned sort of adopted him into seamless friendship. He’s fond of Ned’s wife, Ariel, as well. Great people all around, even though Ned can be slightly intolerable, too competitive for his own good.

“I mean—in the loosest sense possible,” Shane says, thinking about Bailey, her adorable floppy ears. “There’s this animal shop down the street from my apartment, and I think I just might.”

“That’s weird.” Ned narrows his eyes. “You’re not a dog-person.”

“That’s literally all I’ve been trying to tell people.” Shane huffs a laugh.

“Well, you’ve said so on many occasions. I’m surprised they can’t hear you all the way back in Chicago whining about it.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “I’m not that bad,” he reasons. “Besides, it’s the little ones, mostly. They get yippy, just these shrill barks that make me want to jab pencils in my ears.”

“I’ll have you know, I’m offended on Bean’s behalf.” Ned says, voice flat.

“I really don’t know how you do it,” Shane mutters. The conversation dies, and he feels like his usual self, thinking logically; Bailey will be a big dog, so of course, she’ll have a big bark to match, and Shane’s not sure he can handle that either. He’s a peace and quiet kind of guy. Dogs tend to bark at the wind, and Shane’s—well, his sanity can only withstand so much.

“So?” Ned says after a while. “What’s got you thinking about getting a dog? I’ll tell you, as a former ‘not a dog-person’ person, they do grow on you.”

Shane had forgotten about that, Ned’s fear of dogs before he’d gotten Bean. It seems unrealistic; Ned would die for that dog.

“ _So_ ,” Shane mocks. He’s hesitant to go into the actual reason behind it, that a pair of brown eyes are putting up a good argument in the pros column of getting a dog. But Shane tosses giving a shit to the wind, and sighs. “So, there’s this guy and—”

“Get the dog, get the guy. I _promise_ you.” Ned nods, self-satisfied. Shane cracks a smile, shaking his head.

“That’s easy for you to say. You have a wife.”

“And _also_ , a dog. And it’s literally been proven.”

“Nothing has been proven, that doesn’t even make sense.” Shane throws a pen over their glass divider, and it jabs Ned in the shoulder. Ned doesn’t even flinch. 

“I promise you, Shane. Get the dog, get the guy. And you’ll probably need a house because your apartment doesn’t even have a bathtub or a yard.”

That’s _also_ what Shane has been trying to say. And, for the rest of the afternoon, Shane looks through listings, looking for houses with yards that a dog like Bailey might like, houses with bathtubs where he can give her baths.

“I didn’t even say anything about him, you just assumed I wanted to get with this guy,” Shane grumbles after a while, when Ned passes behind him. Ned stops, peeks at Shane’s monitor before Shane has the chance to minimize the browser.

Ned laughs, all too knowingly. “You’re looking at house listings, you dumbass.”

“I’ve been wanting to move for ages,” Shane protests. “I’m thirty-three, it’s time for a house.” Shane sighs and keeps the browser full of listings minimized, focusing on his work instead.

:::

If Shane stops into the store a few times a week on his way home, it’s just to check to see if Bailey’s been adopted. Not because he wants to see Ryan and his big eyes and shiny teeth and the way his neck flushes when Shane stands too close.

Fine, it’s that, too.

:::

It’s become compulsory at this point, to just stop in most days. He doesn’t do it as much in the mornings, because he’s lazy and doesn’t give himself enough time to get ready in the mornings, but sometimes, on the off chance that he has time, he’ll slip in before nine, stay for a few minutes chatting with Ryan, like they hadn’t chatted all night before through text just before bed. Harmless stuff really, memes and jokes and photos and videos of Bailey. It’s easy to be friends with Ryan, almost too easy, but it’s not like the attraction has gone away, considering Shane’s idiot move calling them BFFs instead of potential BBs (Boning Buddies).

Sometimes the air is charged when they stand close together, leaning in towards one another when they talk, voice lowered like the moments are just for them alone. Sometimes Ryan reaches out and touches his shoulder when they’re talking, shoving him playfully, or hitting him with the back of his hand when Shane says something deliberately stupid, just to get a rise out of Ryan. Sometimes they just look at each other, time paused, like the minutes on the clock are suspended, allowing himself just a little while to look at Ryan’s starry eyes, his sight flickering down to see the soft pink of his cheeks, the way he grins wholeheartedly, like Shane is just _so_ fucking funny. And admittedly, Shane’s a funny guy, but to see it reflected on Ryan’s face, like they have chemistry—it just makes Shane so captivated, so disgustingly smitten.

:::

It’s a cool Wednesday evening in October, just before closing. Ryan’s at the counter, refilling the treat jar. He holds the bag with both hands, shaking every so often until the jar is full. He looks up when the bell chimes over the doorway.

At first his expression is just soft, nondescript, but he smiles brightly when he sees Shane. Shane’s heart does a thing, and his stomach does a thing, and Shane is, at this point, used to his whole body betraying him when he’s around Ryan.

“Hey, man!” Ryan says, setting his palms on the counter. Shane’s eyes crawl up the length of his arms; he notes Ryan’s forearms, likes them, wants to reach out and drag an index finger over them, let his fingers linger around his wrist. 

“Hey,” Shane greets, instead, walking up to the counter. “Busy?”

“It’s actually been kind of nice. Lots of adoptions today.”

“Bailey?” Shane asks. Hoping not, of course, but also maybe a little yes, because she deserves a good home with dog-people who will love her.

“No, not Bailey. It’s _so_ weird, she’s just so dang adorable,” Ryan sighs, shaking his head. “If I had the time, I would.”

Shane won’t lie and say he would like that. Because then maybe he would have an excuse to see Ryan outside of work. You know. Instead of just asking him out. Like normal people do. Imagine that; _Hey Ryan, mind if I stop by and pet your dog? Could pet you, too, if you want._

“I’m gonna give her a bath in a minute. Do you want to help?”

Shane raises his eyebrows. “Do you wash all the dogs?”

“No fuckin’ way,” Ryan says. “Keith actually likes it. Some of them get too squirmy and it makes a mess. Just the ones I really like.”

“So, just Bailey, then.”

“Pretty much,” he concedes. Shane chuckles.

“I would actually love to help. I don’t know how much help I’ll be since I’ve never done it.”

“It’s not hard, I’ll teach you,” Ryan says, and they’re looking at each other again, and Shane just wants them to be talking about something _else_. He bets he could learn a lot from Ryan.

:::

It’s incredibly obvious why Ryan doesn’t do this much. It’s remarkably messy and with a puppy at that. Bailey loves the water—and Ryan warned him, but she splashes around, wetting the two of them. Half of Shane’s button up is soaked, and Ryan’s white t-shirt is wet through, and if this was that kind of a contest, Ryan and his nipples would win.

They laugh a lot, splash each other with soapy water. Shane slips and falls at one point, and Ryan is just all cackles, eyes closed tight, hand on his belly. Shane doesn’t mind. His ass is wet, but that’s just fine. Ryan’s crinkly eyes as he laughs soothes the embarrassment.

“I can get you some dry clothes,” Ryan offers, still snickering. “I think there’s a pair of Keith-sized pants for you somewhere.”

“It’s fine, I live, like, a block away, Ryan.” Shane licks his lips, and Ryan takes a moment.

“Oh. Well, we’re closed now and I’m almost finished.” Another Ryan-Moment. “Can I walk you home?”

Shane pauses, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. Yeah, that would be nice.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Silence falls awkwardly, and Shane becomes a part of the background and watches Ryan towel Bailey off, placing her collar back on. She yips happily, licking Ryan’s face. Shane is so fond of the picture before him he has to force himself not to yank his phone out and take a bazillion photos.

Shane tries not to bother Ryan while he works, but he does ask a question here and there while Ryan humors him. He drains the tub and puts all the supplies back, mopping up the water from the floor; the quiet is nice. He just kind of watches as Ryan moves, the way his arms work, how attentive he is, how his eyebrows knit together and his teeth tug on his bottom lip. He’s meticulous, and Shane’s so curious about him, wants to know the inner workings of his mind. And it’s a good feeling; being giddy is nice, and it comes with the newness of getting to know someone he likes. 

Truth be told, Shane’s not the greatest at his own emotions, or at least, conveying them, but he’s great at allowing people to express themselves to him because Shane himself just seeks answers until he finds them. Ryan by no means is a _mystery_ , but he’s still relatively unknown. And for what it’s worth, Shane’s curious about his deepest desires and greatest insecurities just as much as he’s curious about his favorite color.

Ryan catches Shane watching him and smiles. “Hey, you okay? You look far away.”

“Sorry,” Shane says, looking down at his feet.

“Why are you sorry?” Ryan asks.

“I…don’t know,” Shane says, but his skin is warm and when he looks up, Ryan is still watching him. Something’s gotta give, right? This isn’t just _Shane_ -sided. Not when Ryan’s eyes look like _that,_ indescribably clear, the brown of his irises warm like maple syrup.

“Come on,” Ryan says. “I’ll lock up.”

:::

October nights are among Shane’s favorites in Los Angeles; it isn’t by any means hot outside, not with the sun down, but the air doesn’t hold any chill. He’s comfortable, walking his usual route to his apartment, guided by streetlamps. Ryan is quiet beside him and Shane finds that odd, because he’s found Ryan to be a bundle of nervous energy sixty five percent of the time. The other thirty five percent of him is cackling, wheezing, and steadily trying to convince him to adopt a dog. But here, there maybe a few percentages Shane hadn’t accounted for. While Shane is content with comfortable silence, Ryan seems too far away from him. And like Ryan’s a balloon filled with helium, Shane reaches out for the string, just to keep him closer to earth.

“Hey,” Shane says, sticking out his elbow to catch Ryan’s arm. Ryan looks up at him, eyes surprised.

“Hey,” Ryan replies, smile sweet like sugar.

“Just—do you live close? I hope I’m not taking you out of your way,” Shane reasons, mostly for something to say, but also out of curiosity. 

“No, I—uh, I live back that way. Like nowhere near here. I have a car.” Ryan smacks himself in the face and Shane laughs.

“Why’d you want to walk me home, then? Not that I don’t feel safe with you and your biceps.”

Laughing, Ryan stops, so Shane does as well. They stand in the middle of the sidewalk, Ryan’s head cocked to the side, looking up at Shane like he’s stupid. And that’s not necessarily out of the question, but Shane still expects the answer.

“I mean—it’s gotta be a little bit obvious, right?” Ryan says, continuing to walk, so Shane follows.

“What?”

“That I’m into you.”

“ _What_?” Shane gasps, feigning surprise, even though he’s a little bit surprised, because while he has been taken since day one, Shane could’ve imagined all of Ryan’s _Ryan-ness_ all in his head.

“Shut _up_.” Ryan bumps his shoulder and Shane laughs softly.

“I mean—you know. I _thought_. But I wasn’t sure.”

“Be sure, buddy.”

“Well,” Shane says, “the sentiment is reciprocated. I am also into you.”

They’re in front of Shane’s building now, and it’s nervous energy, on both parts, and Ryan’s really nice eyes and soft laughter.

“So, now that we cleared that up, you have to know that I can’t really date someone who’s not a dog-person,” Ryan teases. But he says the word _date_ and Shane’s brain short circuits, little flickers of his imagination drafting scenarios of pizza dinners and movie date nights and walking a particular golden pup while they hold hands.

“Well, _that’s_ not good.” Shane purses his lips, but spreads into a grin.

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “Night, Shane,” he says, turning to walk away, and Shane is just left standing in front of his building, watching Ryan walk away, hands in his pockets, ass tight in those jeans.

Of course, that just means Shane has to become a dog-person. Which, if he’s honest, it’s not like he’s not one, considering his wishy-washy feelings about Bailey.

And he’ll be damned: Ned was fuckin’ right.

:::

“Late night?” Ned asks, waggling his eyebrows. Shane must look like shit, but it was only because he rushed through his morning routine, just so he could stop in and see Ryan, who was more than happy to see him, but he’s not going to unpack all of that just yet.

“Not really, but—I hate to say this, don’t be alarmed,” Shane prefaces, “but you were right.” He sits down at his desk, powering on his computer.

“I’m not surprised, because I’m always right, but what about?”

“’You get the dog, you get the guy’.” Shane’s beaming, giddy, feeling light in his heart. “I literally told him I was into him—”

“Into who?”

Shane swirls around in his chair and finds Eugene standing behind him, handsome as ever, but clearly sniffing him out.

“Into who, Shane? Your dick is literally gonna fall off it’s been so long.”

“Hey! I—I do okay,” Shane mutters. He does _not_ do okay. He works and goes home, and sometimes he has drinks with these idiots, but it’s been a little bit of a while since he’s been with someone. Years since his last actual relationship, months (and months and months) since he’s taken anyone home.

It’s not his fault that no one’s piqued his interest; LA’s vapidity just doesn’t do it for him. He likes warm people, real people; he has no idea why the fuck he lives here sometimes. The city is so plastic it seems too artificial for his tastes. And while he’s indulged, has had a taste of LA, it doesn’t make for longstanding relationships. Not for him, anyway. And maybe he’s putting too much stock into a certain pet store clerk, but it is what it is. Ryan feels good to him; he can’t really change that. And Ryan doesn’t give him that awful plastic vibe. He’s more like wood: sturdy and real and genuine.

“You don’t do _anything_ ,” Ned counters. “This is good for you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eugene interjects. “Into who?” There are many questions marks that punctuate that sentence.

Shane sighs, and because Eugene takes the time to pull up a seat, Shane launches into a story about how he’s not really a dog-person.

:::

“Why are you making that face?” Shane says, slightly exasperated.

“You wax poetic about him. His arms? Tell me more about his arms.” Eugene says sarcastically. “And his eyes, and I think at one point you said he had pretty teeth.”

“He does!”

Ned laughs from his side of the cubicle and Shane feels too hot in his skin. He throws a pen at Ned; it’s becoming too much of a common occurrence that he’s starting to run low on writing instruments.

“Just adopt the dog,” Ned says.

Shane rolls his eyes. “I don’t—”

“You do. I caught you looking at dog beds the other day.” Ned raises an eyebrow.

“Bailey is probably adopted by now,” Shane deflects.

“Ryan is literally holding Bailey for you, you tall, sappy, dumbass.”

“Huh?”

“Shane—” Eugene sighs. “You think Bailey, a Golden Retriever _puppy_ , is not getting _adopted_? Ryan is holding her—it’s an excuse for you to see him thirty-seven times a day.”

Shane says nothing, but—well—it’s not a ridiculous thought.

“Just get the dog. And then you’ll have a _boyfriend_.”

And well, he shouldn’t have to get a dog to date Ryan. He’s sure Ryan was joking anyway. But he kind of wants Bailey. And he certainly wants Ryan. And wow, what a conundrum he’s found himself in.

:::

That afternoon in the shop, Ryan is extremely busy. There are so many customers, and he’s got a chore list a million miles long, so Shane doesn’t stay long to bug Ryan by any means, but he does drop the food he’s brought for Ryan on the table in The Back, making a pit stop to say hi to Bailey.

“Hi, sweet girl,” Shane whispers, feeding her a treat stolen from the front counter through the crate.

He just watches her eat her treat, and Shane sighs. “Wanna come home with me?”

Bailey seems disinterested, focusing more on her catch. Shane laughs, watches the way she nibbles.

“Is Ryan really holding you for me?” Shane whispers, a little bewildered. He feels like it’s a silly move, but also, anytime Shane comes by, she’s tucked away in her crate instead of with ‘gen pop’. And that’s not by accident. She can only have so many bath days, right? And away from the general crowd, it doesn’t seem like she would get attention from the general public, so—it’s really not out of the realm of possibility. _And_ they’ve already divulged the fact that they like each other, so—would Ryan need an excuse now? Is Ryan doing this just because he actually might change his mind and adopt this adorable little puppy? He’s not a dog-person, but maybe he’s a Bailey-person? That happens, right? Affinity for certain personalities and not a species as a whole? He doesn’t like all kids, after all, just his little cousins and potential nieces or nephews, he imagines, if his brother ever has children.

“I mean, to tell you the truth, it’s definitely something he would do. Ryan’s a basket case.”

Keith’s voice comes from behind him and startles him out of his deep thoughts. Shane turns to look at him. He’s wiping his hands on a towel, grinning like a fox. Makes him look like the Grinch, Shane thinks idly.

“Really?” Shane prods. “Ryan’s just locking her up like a princess in a tower? What an evil little witch.”

The cackle Keith makes startles Shane. “Won’t lie,” he says. “That was good. Although, that makes you Prince Charming and Bailey the princess, so you may want to rethink your logic, there.”

Shane makes a face, and prods Keith for more information. “Okay, but do you think that’s what’s happening here? Bailey needs a home.”

Keith shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t know. I think he likes when you come around, so maybe he just keeps Bailey around as insurance to make sure you come back. He’s got a weird complex.”

“So, he is or isn’t?” Shane says, trying to be nonchalant. “Maybes aren’t really doing it for me, man.”

“I have to get back to work,” Keith says, and lopes out of the room, leaving him a little more lost than when he came in. Shane sighs again, looking at Bailey, who’s resting her cute little face on her cute little paws.

“Bye, Bails,” Shane says, poking his finger through the crate. Bailey nibbles at his fingertip. He chuckles to himself. When he leaves The Back, he sees Ryan, just for a second on his way out. He smiles, and waves when he catches Ryan’s attention.

“Bye Shane!” Ryan calls, and Shane feels warm on his walk home, but when he tries to dissect his questions, he’s a little at a loss. Of course, he knows Ryan likes him. He’s said as much, and yet, they haven’t done anything. They’re still talking to each other, standing close, spending time in the shop as Ryan closes, talking and laughing and watching each other with intense, fire lit eyes. And maybe he’s waiting for Ryan to do something, and if he does so, considering Keith-claimed complexes, nothing might happen between them. So maybe, quite possibly, it’s just up to Shane to bite the bullet and put it all out there.

:::

November comes steadfast, cooler now, with the moon hanging full in the sky above them. The city lights dim the stars.

“Were you serious?” Shane asks, when he lets Ryan walk him home again a few nights later.

“About what?” Ryan says, caught off guard.

“About dating a dog-person. This is LA and the standards here are unlike anywhere.”

Ryan laughs, shaking his head. “Of course not. I’ve dated people who catered to _cats_.”

“Women?” Shane asks, because that’s the first place his mind takes him.

“I’m so confused, what are we talking about?”

“You said people who catered to cats, which made me think of a cat lady, which made me think of you dating women.”

Ryan hesitates. “I do. I mean—not right this second. But.” Ryan sighs. “Are you asking me if I’m into women?”

Shane makes a face, looking at the ground, before catching Ryan’s eyes again. “I mean, all parties are curious. But that’s not the point of what I asked in the first place,” he laughs nervously.

“You’re a weird one. Plus, you’re a _closet_ dog-person, I’ve decided. And _yes_ , I like women, I like men, and I also like _you_.”

“So, I don’t have to adopt Bailey? To date you, I mean.” Shane asks, walking with Ryan up to the door of his building. He takes his keys out and unlocks the door. “Also…” Shane says, “Do you want to come in?”

“No, you don’t _have_ to adopt Bailey, but you should.” Ryan pauses. “And yes, I do.”

:::

Switching on the lights, the living room floods golden. He’s not a terribly messy person, but he’s self-aware, inviting Ryan into a space that has always been so private. Ryan doesn’t seem to mind, shrugging out of his coat and leaving it over the back of the sofa.

“I can’t stay long, I have to open,” Ryan says, turning to look up at Shane. He looks tired; he shouldn’t have asked, should have just let Ryan drive home, but his fingertips are buzzing, and the warmth that floods him makes him feel like this is quite alright.

“Are you reserving Bailey, so I’ll adopt her?” Shane asks, shrugging out of his blazer, also leaving it over the back of the sofa.

Walking around, Ryan takes in the space, eyes flitting over certain parts of the living room. Photographs, the encased butterfly, the open curtains and his meager view the building across the street. Ryan isn’t shy by any means when he sits on Shane’s couch and says _yes_. “I know you’ll change your mind, and you’ll be sad when she’s gone.”

Shane laughs. “You’re…” he shakes his head, and grins. So, of course, _he’s_ not shy when he sits next to Ryan on the couch, so close their thighs press together. Ryan looks up at him, face flushed, eyes wide and curious, tonguing over his pink, pink lips.

Climbing unceremoniously onto Shane’s lap, knees tucked on either side of Shane’s hips, Ryan rests his palms on Shane’s shoulders, grinning. “All questions cleared up?”

“Mhm.” Shane looks up at Ryan, setting his hands gentle on Ryan’s hips. This is new, so very, very new, but so very, very welcomed.

With Ryan leaning in close, Shane can see Ryan’s eyelashes flutter, his grin softening as he bites his lip.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” Ryan whispers.

“Okay,” Shane says, Ryan’s mouth so close.

Shane closes the distance between their lips, initiating the kiss. Ryan sighs, sinks against him, chests close together as their mouths press and pull away, momentarily acquainting themselves. And then it’s more, the tentative invitation of tongue, fingers through Shane’s hair as Ryan holds him close. They dissolve into each other, exploring; it’s exhilarating. Shane can feel Ryan’s exhaustion in the way he kisses, just this side of messy, but he kisses with enthusiasm, with curiosity. His tongue tastes like coffee, and his sighs are soft in Shane’s ears, echoed most certainly by his own. Shane holds him by the waist, groaning softly the way Ryan cradles his neck in the palms of his hands, his thumbs pressed softly against the hollow underneath his jaw.

“Stay the night,” Shane requests against Ryan’s lips, breaking their kiss to mouth at Ryan’s throat. The scratch of his stubble burns against Shane’s lips but Shane’s enraptured, enticed. There’s heat in his veins, fire in his belly, insistent, flooding through him when Ryan drags his hips against his own, dizzyingly tantalizing. Shane groans against the column of Ryan’s neck, reaching a hand between their bodies to tug at Ryan’s collar, just to touch his lips to his collarbone and drag his mouth up the length of his throat to press his lips against just underneath the sharp line of Ryan’s jaw, eliciting a rather explicit whine when he presses his wide hand against the small of Ryan’s back, encouraging the delicious shift of Ryan’s hips. Breathing hard into his neck as his mouth works the very beginnings of a mark, Shane lets his tongue taste the wild beat of Ryan’s pulse; Ryan’s fingers through his hair pulls tight and it sends thrilling chills sluicing down his spine.

“Wait, wait,” Ryan whispers, voice soft in the otherwise quiet of the living room. Shane pulls his hands away and falls back against the couch, watching Ryan’s face as he swallows, eyes fluttering open with lashes so, so pretty.

“I _really_ want to, but I can’t,” Ryan mumbles, lips red and eyes dark and cheeks flushed. He’s a vision for fantasies, that’s for sure, sitting on top of Shane’s thighs looking torn.

“It’s fine,” Shane says, rubbing his hands over his face, like he can just wipe away how much he wants Ryan. “I guess I’ll just have to continue to stalk you at your place of employment.”

Ryan leans in, chuckling against Shane’s hair, mumbling something like _Is it stalking if you’re invited?_ Shane feels the feather soft touch of his lips against his temple and it’s just—Shane feels off-kilter, knowing he needs to cool down, but also too keyed up, caught somewhere in the hazy middle of lust and something else. He nudges Ryan’s hip with a gentle hand, not allowing himself to think too much into it.

“Raincheck, though, I promise, cause I _really_ want this to continue.” Ryan climbs off of Shane and sits back onto the couch, on the other side where there’s a little bit of space between them. “Water, please?” He requests, looking at Shane with those gorgeous eyes and they watch each other for a few moments, until Ryan kicks him gently on the thigh, whining for him to go away. So, Shane goes.

In the kitchen, he has to take a minute, just so he can really shake off the intensity of what they were just doing. He sort of just _stands_ in front of the refrigerator, rearranging magnets, smiling dopily to himself, until he has enough sense to grab a glass and fill it from the fridge filter. When Shane returns to the living room, Ryan is stretched out on his couch. Eyes closed, presumably asleep.

Shane chuckles and rolls his eyes, drinking from the glass. He’s so fond of this idiot.

Walking around the couch to kneel next to Ryan, Shane wakes him up, apologetically shaking his shoulder.

Eyes fluttering open, like Ryan’s warring against his exhaustion, he looks at Shane, an embarrassed little smile toying with the corners of his mouth. “Sorry,” he groans, stretching so his shirt rises, and Shane catches a nice eyeful of the little trail of hair from his belly button. “So tired.” He looks at Shane with sleepy eyes as he sits up.

“Come on, shoes off. I’ll get you a blanket.” Shane stands and Ryan does as well, stretching his body again.

Rubbing his eyes, Ryan shakes his head, “Just take me to bed, Shane. But no funny business,” Ryan says, placing his hands-on Shane’s shoulders, leaning up to catch Shane’s mouth in a kiss.

“Don’t worry, just sleep,” Shane promises. They don’t move, not yet, just kissing like this, Ryan’s sleepy kisses just too much to break away from. But Shane eventually pulls away, rubbing his hands over Ryan’s back. “Come on, I’ll get you something comfortable to wear, then.”

Ryan kicks off his shoes, leaving them by the couch, and he follows Shane around, hand soft against Shane’s back. Shane’s warm in his skin, but in a vibrant way he hasn’t felt in a while, if ever.

They brush their teeth, and Ryan changes into Shane’s clothes, and Shane finds that he most definitely has a thing for that, the way he’s swallowed up by fabric. Ryan catches his eyes and grins, shaking his head and climbing into bed. Shane turns off the lights and follows by memory, slipping into bed beside Ryan. He lays on his side, facing him, and he wants to reach out, and pull Ryan close. Ryan, though, turns his back to Shane and shuffles close to him, making a space for himself against Shane’s chest, gently demanding to be held. And Shane goes, slipping his arm around Ryan’s waist, hand splayed over the fabric of Ryan’s t shirt. Quiet falls and Shane sinks into the feeling of being _comfortable_.

“Night, Shane,” Ryan hums. Shane presses his face into the nape of Ryan’s neck.

“Night, Ryan.”

:::

Ryan is gone in the morning, his clothes folded neatly on the pillow Ryan slept on. Shane smiles, shoving his face into his pillow, breathing in deep.

That was nice. Sleeping with Ryan was nice, and he wants to do it again and again. And he supposes he will, considering they’re—what? Dating?

Which sends Shane’s heart lurching, because he’s _dating_ Ryan and he likes that.

“I’m so fucked,” he whispers to himself.

:::

At his desk, his email application dings.

It’s from Ned.

It’s a listing for apartment complexes, with nicer apartments than what he has now. And the bathrooms happen to have bathtubs. Shane rolls his eyes.

:::

On a Wednesday in late November, with a particular spring in his step, Shane shows up to the shop during his lunch break, which he never does, but today’s a good day. He breezes into The Back when he doesn’t see Ryan at the counter or anywhere in his immediate view.

Ryan’s sitting at the table, chatting with Keith. They look engrossed in conversation and Shane feels apologetic about marching in and taking charge of the conversation.

Shane says, “Hey, Ryan? Sorry,” looking apologetically at Keith.

“Yeah?” Ryan asks, turning to look at him. Gorgeous brown eyes and an easy smile.

“Are you free tonight?”

Ryan’s brows knit. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to have dinner?”

Ryan’s brows raise. “Yeah—yes.”

“Great,” Shane says, “It’s a date.” Ryan’s face is still frozen in surprise, just looking at Shane with eyes like stars. Looking at Keith, Shane waves and says, “Bye Keith.”

Keith’s laughter bids him adieu and he feels very, very good.

He has a date he didn’t plan for. Excellent.

:::

On his walk back to work, Shane pulls up a google search for “date night” and a million different things pop up. Granted, he had told Ryan dinner, so the expectation wasn’t spectacular, but Shane kinda wanted to do something—fun. Something better than just dinner, even though he kinda feels like it really doesn’t matter what they do at all. And that’s an incredible feeling—he doesn’t feel like he has to impress Ryan. He already knows Ryan likes him.

He scrolls through lists and lists; he laughs heartily when one idea reads, “visit a pet adoption center”.

Eventually, nothing piquing his interest, he visits Facebook and looks through the events. There’s a cookie decorating thing at a new bakery, and Shane likes the idea of Ryan in an apron. 

He shoots a text to Ryan.

_Meet me downstairs, eightish?_

_Okay. [heart-eyes emoji] Dress code?_

_I’d say middle of the road._

_What are we doing?_

_[Grin emoji]_

_[Eyes emoji]_

Shane smiles at his phone, too fond of Ryan for words. He couldn’t express it if he tried, actually.

:::

“You’re disgustingly chipper today,” Eugene comments in passing, eyeing him suspiciously. “Did you finally get laid?”

Ned seems to perk up over the cubicle barrier, watching the two of them.

“That’s really none of your business,” Shane mutters, keeping his attention on his screen, but it’s difficult with two sets of meddlesome eyes burning holes in his flesh with silent, prodding questions. 

“Is this about your guy?” Eugene nudges; he’s not one to go down easily.

“It’s not about anything,” Shane says, but his smile must give it away. He’s terrible at sharing his feelings, but he can’t help if, sometimes, they’re written all over his face. He’s only human; he, too, like most people, emotes.

“It is!” Ned exclaims. “What happened?”

“Nothing—”

“You left for lunch,” Eugene notes, raising an eyebrow. “You never do that, like the rest of us overworked crazies.”

“So maybe I—”

There’s no sense in lying, really, because this is a good thing. He doesn’t know why he wants to keep it to himself, considering they’ve advised him on steps to takes thus far. It’s good news; there shouldn’t be any sort of trepidation, but still, there’s strings of worry woven through elation. He’s _nervous_ because what if it doesn’t go well? What if he’s boring and—and it might sound stupid, since they’ve had nothing but good times up until this point; spent the night together at one point; it seems silly that he would feel trepidatious over a date; because it’s officialized? That seems ridiculous. He’s ridiculous. It’s all just very ridiculous, and yet, he’s finding himself thinking that maybe, he’s so worked up about it because it has been a while, and he likes Ryan abundantly, and would hate for it to be strange, so much so that they can’t return to being friends. Because he would rather that, than not having Ryan around, he thinks.

And perhaps, it’s a lot to feel, too much too fast, a whirlwind of terribly intoxicating emotions that make him feel too light for gravity.

When he comes back into himself, after having his mini freak out for the better part of ten seconds, he looks between Ned and Eugene and shrugs his shoulders.

“I have a date.”

Ned pumps his fist in the air, just as Eugene grins, citing a nice, “Good for you.” over Ned’s ridiculous whooping, which garners eyes from other employees.

“Christ, Ned, it’s an office,” Shane says, but he can’t help the grin.

:::

Ryan shows up at his building, just a few minutes early, later that night.

_Should I come up?_

_On my way down!_

Shane smooths a hand over the buttons on his chest, running his fingers through his hair as he picks at his reflection in the mirror. He should have shaved, but there’s no time now, and maybe this shirt isn’t the best one he could’ve picked, but—this is what he gets for impromptu dates with incredibly hot guys that suddenly make him nervous.

When he gets downstairs, Ryan is leaning against the wall, and Shane takes a moment to appreciate him. He’s smiling down at his phone, and he’s dressed casually, very handsome in a Henley that does nothing to hide the strength of his arms, and dark washed jeans tucked into boots. His hair falls messy over his forehead and Shane just wants to drag him inside and make out with him on his couch again. He always wants to kiss Ryan, honestly, but he just looks so good—even better when Shane swings the door open and walks outside and Ryan looks up, his gentle smile unfurling wide.

“Hey,” Ryan says, pushing off the wall to meet Shane as Shane walks towards him. “You look great,” he compliments, touching his finger to the opening of his button down.

“Thanks,” Shane says, hating the way he feels too warm in his skin at such a simple compliment. “You look incredible.”

“Yeah?”

“Like you don’t know,” Shane says, rolling his eyes. Ryan sets a hand on the back of Shane’s neck, and Shane’s heart leaps when he pushes himself onto the tips of his toes—he doesn’t quite reach for the kiss Shane anticipates, so Shane ducks his head and catches Ryan’s lips. Ryan’s sigh is sweet, and so is the kiss, just a second-long moment Shane wishes would last all night. There’s a daze in Ryan’s eyes and Shane would bet a million dollars that his eyes probably look exactly the same.

“Ready?” Shane asks.

Ryan nods, and rather than walk back to Ryan’s car, they walk up the street.

“Where are we going?” Ryan asks, slipping his hand into Shane’s and Shane threads their fingers together.

“Do you like cookies?”

“What kind of question is that?” Ryan laughs.

“Well, it would be kind of horrible if you hated cookies considering we’re going to go decorate some.”

“Cookie decorating? You’re adorable. I thought you’d be the type to take me bowling or mini golfing,” Ryan says.

“Mmm. Good ideas all around, but I’m horrible with sports and really anything that involves hand eye coordination. Art—I’m pretty good with art.” Shane grins. “Besides, I don’t want to willingly put myself into a situation where I would like a fool. Judging by your— _everything_ , I’m sure you’re excellent at sports.”

“Eh, I do okay…” Ryan laughs. “I just like any kind of athleticism really.”

Shane scrunches up his face. “I’m just grateful for my metabolism because no thanks.”

Ryan yawns, immediately apologizing.

“It’s clear that I'm boring you,” Shane teases, and Ryan flushes, shaking his head. Ryan yanks at Shane’s hand.

“No— _stop_ ,” he whines. “I’m just so tired. We’re finally hiring someone else, so I won’t have to work a million hours a day.”

Ryan pulls them into an alleyway, leaning himself against the wall, and pulling Shane in close when he lets go of Shane’s hand and tucks his index fingers into Shane’s belt loops, hips pressed so dangerously close together.

“Could just take you home,” Shane reasons. “We can always do this some other time.”

“I don’t want to do that. Do you—” Ryan shakes his head. “You came in, all matter of fact, asking me out to dinner, in front of one of the most insufferable people I know, and you expect me to just raincheck?” Ryan quirks an eyebrow. “I’ve been excited all day.”

“Really?” Shane asks, ducking his head down when he looks at Ryan. His eyes are warm and brown, soft with the way he smiles.

“Really. I like you a lot, Shane. Like, since you walked into the shop that day. I was in such a bad mood, and I saw you playing with Bailey and it just—I don’t know. You just made me happy,” he confesses, sighing deeply when he’s done.

“I made you happy?”

“You _make_ me happy.”

“Gross,” Shane teases. Ryan rolls his eyes.

“You’re gross,” he retorts, curling his arms around Shane’s neck.

“I’ll show you gross,” Shane mutters when he leans down to give Ryan a particularly breathtaking kiss.

:::

They leave the alley, and somehow, they reach the subject of how much Ryan can bench—because, arms—and somehow, that leads to Ryan effortlessly carrying Shane piggy-back for a significant amount of time. Ryan is compact, but Shane has to admit, this is turning him on like nothing else has.

“My big, strong man,” Shane jokes.

Ryan laughs, nearly tripping over his feet. “You got it, babe.”

:::

Because they’re adults, they do eventually walk together like adults do, falling into hand holding like they’ve been doing it for a while. It’s here where Shane is rewarded with Ryanisms: where he grew up, his parents and little brother, how he graduated from college with the intent to go into films, but changed mid-way, studying animal science because he wanted to become a veterinarian. And while was assisting for a period of time, the clinic he worked at closed down and instead of finding another, he took his current job because it makes him happy to see families grow with the addition of pets. He’s not making nearly the amount of money he should, considering the amount of debt he’s in for school loans, but he’s content in his life. Shane admires him for it, for doing what he likes just because he likes it, not necessarily because it’s lucrative.

“Maybe, next year,” Ryan says, his voice soft, “I’ll go back to it. Because helping animals was what I originally wanted to do. I’ll work my way into having my own little clinic.”

“You should! If that’s what you want. I one hundred percent support that,” Shane says, looking down at Ryan, catching his gentle smile. Ryan squeezes his hand, and Shane squeezes back.

Once they arrive at the bakery, of course, it’s packed with people, lots of kids, too, but that doesn’t deter either of them. They go in determined, donning aprons and Christmas colored chef hats, finding a corner with enough space for them to squeeze their plates full of undecorated cookies onto a table.

And it’s a lot of fun. While Shane is alright with art, he’s no Van Gogh, there’s something to be said for how absolutely horrifying Ryan is. And when Shane teases him, the tips of his ears go red and he scrunches up his face, but all that softens when Shane plants a wet one right on Ryan’s cheek.

They end up with a decent lot, promising to give them away to coworkers. Shane’s had about five of them, but Ryan’s the one with frosting on the corners of his mouth. Like a full blown rom-com, Shane catches Ryan’s chin with the knuckle of his index finger, gently coaxing Ryan to look at him. And with wide blown pupils, Ryan watches Shane’s face whilst Shane uses his thumb to wipe away the bit of baby blue frosting.

They just stare at each other, even while Shane presses his thumb to his lips, licking away the remnants of frosting. Ryan makes somewhat of a strangled noise.

Shane wordlessly goes back to decorating a fresh stack of cookies, and he can hear Ryan mutter, “tease.” He grins to himself.

:::

Shane didn’t have a plan for after cookies, and it was still early enough that Ryan suggested a bar of some sort. The first one they happen upon was actually a wine bar. There’s an event for a wine tasting, and while they’re both beer kind of guys—it seems like something date night couples do.

So, they do it, and Shane’s acutely aware that he’s wine buzzed. Ryan, however, is wine-drunk, cheeks flushed and his hair even more of a mess. His eyes are sleepy, but oh-so-sparkling. At some point, Ryan’s stopped tasting the wine, and just started knocking them back like shots, whispering in a way that was much too loud to actually be a whisper. And Shane’s amused, enamored, because Ryan just tugs him along, bumping into people and tossing out halfhearted sorry’s just to get to the next table. People glare at them because they’re not the kind of guys that make due in a wine bar, but Ryan’s lips are tinged red and he keeps standing on his tiptoes with his hand on Shane’s shoulder, whispering, “You should take me home, now,” in a hazy, lust ridden voice that has Shane’s skin burning.

And he knows nothing can happen tonight, not like this, and that’s perfectly okay because he’s much too buzzed to be any kind of coordinated, and _Ryan’s_ much too drunk to be of right mind. But Shane lets Ryan tug him along outside, pull on his fingertips as they traipse the streets of LA on a Wednesday night, completely infatuated with each other.

“I want you _so_ bad,” Ryan says, turning to look behind him—he’s ahead of Shane by many steps, and the only reason he isn’t a falling mess is because Shane is holding on tight.

“Yeah?” Shane entertains.

“ _Yeah_.” Ryan says, voice breathy. “You’re very tall. I really like that you’re very tall. And I like your mouth. I think you could probably kill me with your mouth.”

There’s fire low in Shane’s belly, a thrill that rings up his spine. Ryan stops and looks up at Shane. “I really like you Shane. You’re hot, and you’re funny, and you don’t think you’re a dog-person, but you _are_.”

Shane laughs. “It’s late, but do you think we can sneak in and say hi to Bailey?”

Ryan shakes his head. “The alarm will go off, and I don’t think I’m of quote—sound mind—end quote, to punch the code in fast enough. But you can walk me to work in the morning.”

“Cause you’re staying the night?”

“Mhm. You,” Ryan says, poking Shane in the chest, “are stuck with me.”

:::

In Shane’s living room, Ryan decides they need more wine. And Shane’s not much for it, but he has a few selections, all very shitty he’s sure, but he pours them in glasses, vivid burgundy, and brings them out to the living room. Ryan’s pushed away the coffee table; it sits flush against the edge of the couch to make space in the middle of his small living room. He’s laid out a blanket and pulled the couch pillows down, lying on his side. His eyes are glazed over and the wine Shane hands him is only going to make the stain of Ryan’s lips even redder. Ryan drinks, watching Shane over the rim of his glass before he hands it back to Shane.

“Lay down with me,” Ryan delicately says. Shane sets the glasses down on the coffee table and sinks down next to Ryan. They look at each other for moments, everything silent but the sound of their breathing. Shane touches his fingertips to Ryan’s cheek, watches the way Ryan’s eyes flutter closed. And when Shane leans in to kiss Ryan, he tastes like wine. Shane sets his hand on the small of Ryan’s back and pull him flush against his own body—

Ryan starts laughing, wheezing really, against Shane’s cheek.

“What’s so funny?” Shane asks, completely lost, but enjoying himself anyway. Ryan’s face is scrunched up, eyes closed and—well, Shane just mentally captures it, takes a polaroid of the moment and tucks it away.

“I just—one of your excuses for not adopting Bailey was because you didn’t have a bathtub, and it’s just—so earnest and _kind_ , like—” Ryan giggles some more and Shane chuckles at himself. “I just like that so much.” Ryan breathes in, whispering something like _you smell good_ , before pressing his mouth to Shane’s neck.

“And you have a bathtub,” Shane murmurs, groaning softly when Ryan’s hand sneaks underneath his button up, resting on his stomach; Ryan’s mouth is deliberately sucking marks into Shane’s throat.

“I do. Kinda want you to fuck me in it,” Ryan says. And Shane’s wine-buzzed and Ryan’s wine-drunk, and that’s a lot for Shane to process.

“I—” Shane swallows thickly, sighing hard when Ryan pushes him onto his back. “Would love to,” Shane barely hears himself say before Ryan leans down, and they’re kissing again, effectively ceasing any more conversation. They dissolve into sighs, the smack of their lips, mouths wet with the sloppy, greedy way they kiss. Ryan straddles Shane’s hips, licking into his mouth, commanding the kiss with fervor and voracity. Shane just wants to undress him, get him naked and make him come. He wants to explore every line of Ryan’s body, from the curve of his neck to the lines of his stomach, the tremor of his thighs. He wants to watch Ryan unravel underneath him.

Shane pulls back just slightly, gone for the way Ryan chases after him. Ryan’s eyes are heavy-lidded, watching Shane with blown pupils, his mouth wrecked. He touches his thumb to Ryan’s bottom lip, so, so red. Ryan’s breath comes in short spurts, and he touches the tip of his tongue to Shane’s thumb, and Shane groans. Going against what every nerve ending in his body is screaming for, Shane whispers, “Slow down.”

“I—yeah,” Ryan sighs, his eyes searching Shane’s face before slumping down onto Shane’s chest. They’re both hard—Shane can feel it—and as uncomfortable as Shane might be, it pales to how _right_ everything feels when Ryan presses a kiss to the hollow of his throat, siding off of him and tucking himself in close.

“Wine, man. It’ll really fuck you up,” Ryan chuckles into Shane’s shirt, nuzzling his nose like he’s looking for a scent.

“You’re certainly a hell of a lot of fun,” Shane says, staring up at the ceiling; his skin buzzes with newness, with tenderness, with the gentle feeling of floating. He’s the balloon now, and Ryan is the weight that keeps him grounded. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure I’m a great time when I get handsy,” Ryan says, voice light, sleepy.

“Despite that, I just—I always have a really good time with you,” Shane says, and he’s aware that his voice is soft, and the sentiment is far too mushy, but it still remains the truth, and right now, in his living room, he lets the vulnerability control him, allows him to say things he wouldn’t otherwise.

“You’re just trying to get into my pants,” Ryan murmurs, but when Shane looks down, Ryan’s eyes are shy. And that’s a first. Flustered? Maybe. Sexy? For sure. But shy? Shane’s stomach flutters.

“Is it working?” Shane asks in a whisper.

“Nope,” Ryan lies, grinning wildly.

:::

In the morning, it’s Ryan’s cell that rings them awake. Shane’s arm is dead asleep and he’s still in his jeans. He can feel Ryan warm, tucked right into his side. He knows he didn’t get up in the middle of the night to grab his comforter from his bed, so it only makes him smile to think maybe he dozed off, and rather than waking him up and taking him to bed, Ryan just made himself a bed in the curve of Shane’s waist. Ugh, his heart. He pictures Ryan, tipsy, walking around his apartment, tiptoeing quietly into Shane’s room and back, just to cover the two of them up.

Ryan shuts the alarm off, groaning into Shane’s chest. Shane closes himself around Ryan, nosing over his cheek, burrowing his face in the warmth of Ryan’s shoulder.

“Come on, you get in the shower, and I’ll make some coffee,” Shane mumbles, even though he doesn’t want to get up at all.

“Fine,” Ryan says, yawning, but he doesn’t make moves to get up either. For a chill, safe handful of moments, they lay there, against each other. When sleep threatens again, Shane sighs; he rubs his eyes, getting up from their makeshift bed. His back is sore, arm still halfway asleep, but when he turns back to look at Ryan, it’s an insta-cure, the way Ryan just snuggles back into the pillow, buried underneath Shane’s navy-blue comforter.

“Stop watching me sleep, creeper,” Ryan mutters, eyes closed, and Shane laughs his way into the kitchen.

It was early enough that Shane could walk Ryan to work, give a quick kiss to Bailey, and then come back home and get ready for his own day. He busies himself making a pot of coffee, looking in his fridge for breakfast-ables, but not inspired enough to actually make anything. He’ll buy Ryan breakfast on their way in instead. He scrolls through his phone, waiting for Ryan, because he doesn’t know how Ryan takes his coffee.

And when Ryan comes into the kitchen, unabashedly shirtless, and Shane asks his question, Ryan says, “Black like my soul.”

When Ryan grabs Shane by the collar of his shirt, they both burst into laughter as Shane follows it up with, “I’m all the sugar you need, huh?”

They kiss for a while, wheezing laughter and gentle giggles, sipping of coffee in between until Ryan’s phone chimes an alarm again.

“Do you really need that many alarms?” Shane murmurs against his mouth.

“If I set time limits for other stuff, then I have time for this,” Ryan reasons, kissing Shane just once more before shoving him away gently. “I’m going to be late if we don’t leave in three minutes.”

Shane watches him leave the kitchen, without so much as a backwards glance, and Shane feels like this could be his forever. He’s entertaining the idea—because the last handful of months—has it really been that little time?—has been bliss, and well, he can just see himself intertwined in Ryan, alarms going off just so Ryan can stash a few minutes away for coffee make outs. It makes his heart burn in his chest and his stomach churn, and it’s an all too familiar feeling of falling steadfast in love.

:::

Nights go a little like this now; Shane walks home and pops in to see Ryan, and on the days he works late or has plans Ryan can’t make, Ryan buzzes up to Shane’s apartment. Sometimes he stays, most nights he doesn’t, but it’s really nice when he does, lazy make outs in the morning as they get ready for work; it means some mornings, Shane has to get up an hour and a half earlier than he’s used to, but being rewarded with Ryan’s body makes it damn well worth it. They kiss like crazy—all the time, so much so that Shane thinks he might have a _problem_. But Ryan is always there to lean into it, lazy fingers dancing along skin, like maybe it’s a problem for him, too.

The weekends are spent exploring the world. Well, LA really. Eating and drinking and meeting friends; Ryan gets on with Ned, and Keith is quite taken by Eugene and Eugene’s just there for the drinks most of the time, but deep down, Shane knows his heart is soft for them.

The B-word comes up, accidentally; they don’t have a conversation about it, really, but one day, Shane walks in during lunch, just to feed Ryan—a common occurrence since Shane works close and it’s nearly impossible for Ryan to leave—and Keith is at the register and calls out, “Ryan! Your boyfriend is here!”

And while they’re eating, they’re both a little quiet, not really talking about anything specifically, until Shane asks, “Is that—like—do you want to be my boyfriend? I mean. I’m not seeing other people and I’d like this to be a thing that’s exclusive to the both of us. If you want that.”

Fuck’s sake, he’s thirty-three, sounding twenty years regressed and Ryan’s laughing at him and he’s feeling a little bit stupid, but Ryan’s eyes are glittering again, shining so brightly Shane feels like he might go blind.

“Well, yeah, dude,” Ryan says, smile made of gold and Shane’s heart does a little backflip and he may or may not be blushing, but who’s to tell.

:::

Los Angeles is bright, lit with strings of lights, ribbons and garland. It’s Christmastime in the city. It’s just a week away, and instead of going to see his family like he usually does, he phones into his parents and tells him that he’s been invited to spend the holiday with the Bergaras instead.

And it had been so cute when Ryan had asked, in the middle of having drinks with their friends, sitting abandoned in a booth as others went in search of drinks or dance partners or the bathroom. It was just the two of them, alone in the chaos that surrounded them; Ryan finished picking off the label of his beer bottle, so he snatches Shane’s empty to keep going, until Shane reaches out his hand and stops him.

“What are you overthinking about?” Shane asks, and it feels horrible, trying to have an intimate conversation with Ryan in the middle of an overcrowded bar.

“Do you want to spend Christmas with my family?”

“What?”

“DO YOU WANT—” Ryan starts yelling over the music, but Shane shakes his head, effectively cutting him off.

“No, no, I heard you, I’m just surprised,” Shane says. “This is a thing we’re doing?”

It’s so loud in the bar, Shane feels overstimulated, but Ryan stands abruptly, nodding his head towards the exit, already moving. Shane gets up to follow him, long strides of his legs to catch up.

When they’re outside, they walk a ways away. The doorway to the restaurant next door is dark; it’s almost midnight, they’re closed. They stand underneath the small awning; Ryan pulls his jacket closer, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“It’s so fucking loud in there,” Ryan mutters, and Shane grins.

“It’s a bar after all, but what were you—”

“Christmas with me. Do you want to? It’s—my parents live in town. Um—I told them about you. And my mom wants to meet you, and this _feels_. Like—I feel good, with _you_. Do you want to come?”

There’s a brilliance that flickers like a faulty flashlight in Ryan’s eyes; Shane assumes he’s going back and forth between his thoughts, thinking Shane may turn him down. But that’s not the case at all. Shane wants nothing more than to meet Ryan’s family. They’ve skirted around the idea; meeting parents, but nothing concrete ever transpired. Shane’s chest felt tight, in that way it aches when Ryan catches him off guard, so incredibly sweet. Shane can’t help but crowd into Ryan’s space, arms dangling over Ryan’s shoulders.

“Is this a yes?” Ryan says, eyes shining, teeth gleaming white as he grins. He seems to have settled and Shane’s stomach does a flip.

“Yeah, I’d love to. But that just means we’re flying to Chicago next year.”

“Next year?” Ryan says, his voice sounding far away, dazed, like he’s absorbed over the thought of this relationship is propelling further than either of them thought it would.

“Well, you’re gonna show me yours, may as well show you mine,” Shane murmurs, finding Ryan’s lips with his own, a stolen kiss in the shadows.

:::

It was chilly this January, just enough to remind him of the Midwest, a nostalgia he used to laugh at. Now, whenever he goes out, the cold is a little unbearable.

It’s early Saturday morning; Ryan’s off at the gym, and Shane promised to have coffee waiting for him when he got back. But after he picked up a couple steaming cups and bagels, he decided to take a detour, walking up the block to the pet store.

Keith is at the counter this morning; there seems to be a lull, not very many customers milling through the aisles. He seems confused by Shane’s presence.

“Did Ryan not tell you it was his day off?” he asks, and Shane shrugs.

“I wanted to come in and see Bailey,” Shane says, pausing for a moment, eyeing Keith. “And if you had some adoption papers lying around and if I happen to sign them, well, I wouldn’t be upset about it,” he finishes, smoothing his hands over his coat.

“Finally,” Keith says, grinning wildly. He pulls a clipboard from underneath the counter, points to several places on the sheet. “Just sign here, here, initial here, sign here, and here.”

Shane does so, and within a handful of minutes, he’s got Bailey on a leash, leading her back home. He’ll work out the legalities of his apartment later.

:::

Shane’s in the bedroom when Ryan gets home; Bailey seems disinterested at his entrance, laying ever so loyally at Shane’s feet, just at the end of his bed.

“Shane?” Ryan calls, and Shane feels a bubble of happiness, sitting there. Bailey hops off the bed and here is where she finds her reason to go bounding out the door and—

“Not a dog-person my _ass_!” Ryan says, laughter evident in his voice. Shane gets up, chuckling to himself, and walks over, just to lean on the doorjamb. He looks at the display in front of him, Ryan, sweaty from his run, giggling as Bailey licks over his face, happy little barks renting the air.

And it’s then that he slips his phone from his pocket, snaps a photo, assigning it as his lock screen.

“Excuse me,” Shane says, mock offense in his tone. “I’m a Bailey-person, is all.”

“I’m a you-person,” Ryan says, eyes soft, shining, even in the light of the hallway. His face is flushed, and he sits up, Bailey finding herself a comfortable home in his lap. There’s something about the way Ryan says it, like it’s more than just a little joke they’ve come up with. The warmth in Shane’s chest is familiar, he always feels like that around Ryan, but now, it’s exponentially heightened.

That’s _love_ , babey.

:::

Later that night, when they’re lying in Shane’s bed, overheated, naked, tracing lines on each other’s bodies, Ryan starts to laugh, soft against Shane’s shoulder. Lying on Ryan’s belly, tucked neatly between Ryan’s thighs, Shane looks up, a little confused.

“What is so funny?”

“You _still_ don’t have a bathtub. But now you have Bailey.” Ryan shakes his head. “How’s _that_ gonna work?”

“There are such things as groomers, Ryan.” Shane smiles, hoisting himself up on his palms to crawl up the lazy line of Ryan’s body, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to Ryan’s lips. “And maybe, uh, since you’re a me-person and all, and I’m most definitely a you-person, _we_ should just—you know. Find a place with one.”

Ryan’s eyes are warm, searching.

Shane just shrugs his shoulders. “What? You practically live here anyway.”

“You want to do that?” Ryan asks, and it’s wild to Shane that he sounds so incredulous.

“I mean,” Shane murmurs, lips moving along Ryan’s collarbones, “I also have ulterior motives, considering there was that one time you _specifically_ requested I fuck you in a bathtub,” Shane says, and Ryan rolls his eyes, but his hands are gentle over Shane’s biceps.

“You’re an idiot,” Ryan says, but his breath is short, and his eyes glaze over like _maybe_ it’s not the worst idea in the world. “We’ll talk _seriously_ about it later,” Ryan decides, curling his arms around Shane’s neck. “For right now, show me some more how much of me-person you are.” He punctuates his request with wiggling eyebrows. Shane huffs laughter into Ryan’s shoulder as he sinks down against Ryan’s body. 

They’re interrupted when Shane hears scratching at his door, which they closed, because Bailey shouldn’t see the things they get up to in the dark. And then the gentle howling begins. Ryan looks at Shane, and Shane rolls his eyes and says, “ _This_ is why I’m not a dog-person.”

“Either way you slice it, you’re a liar,” Ryan says, and they both share a soft kiss before parting, getting dressed in sweatpants and hoodies and whatever else is lying around.

When they’re decent, Shane opens the door and Bailey comes bounding in, to which Ryan clips on her leash.

And a little like he imagined it, months and months ago, they hold hands, a golden pup leading the way.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr!](https://uneventfulhouses.tumblr.com/) thanks for reading!!


End file.
